Down from the Pits
by Waldo
Summary: “Tell him Cherry pits are poisonous. You can die if you eat them.”“Yes, Rodney, you’re right. They contain a chemical that produces cyanide. “Uh, Carson…” That was John...


**Rating:** PG-13  
**Pairing:** Sheppard/Beckett  
**Summary:** "Tell him Cherry pits are poisonous. You can die if you eat them.  
"Yes, Rodney, you're right. They contain a chemical that produces cyanide. "  
"Uh, Carson…" That was John...  
**A/N**: beta by the fabulous RoseWildIrish. Written for the crazy FlatLandDan, who learned John's lesson the not-quite-this-hard way.

"Right? Carson, tell him I'm right."

Carson looked up from his paperwork to see Rodney literally dragging John into the infirmary by the sleeve of his jacket.

"About what now, Rodney?"

"Cherry pits are poisonous. You can die if you eat them."

"Yes, Rodney, you're right. They contain a chemical that produces cyanide. Can I get back to this now?" Carson didn't wait for an answer as he went back to work, assuming that he'd settled whatever ridiculous argument the two of them had been having.

"Uh, Carson…"

That was John. Carson set down the stylus he'd been marking his tablet with and looked up slowly. "Yes?"

"I sort of ate some." John looked contrite and nervous.

As well he should, Carson decided. "You what?" He stood up and pointed to a diagnostic bed across the room. "Up there. Now."

John swallowed nervously and made his way to the bed and hopped up on it without a word.

"Now, define 'sort of' and 'some'."

"Like thirty," Rodney put in. He then moved across the room - well out of reach of any medical implements but where he could still see whatever treatment John had earned himself.

"More like a dozen," John corrected. He saw Carson roll his eyes and felt the sudden urge to defend himself. "What? There was nowhere to spit them in the t.v. room!"

Carson didn't say anything as he began checking John's vitals.

"There were napkins," Rodney put in from his safe corner. "You didn't see any of the rest of us swallowing big, hard stone-like things, did you?"

"How long ago did this happen?" Carson asked as he wrapped John's arm in a blood pressure cuff.

"I started to drag him down here as soon as I realized that he had a handful of stems, but no pits. Then he ate one right in front of me. I figured he was either suicidal or just terminally stupid."

"Thanks, Rodney. Nice to know you care – ow!" John flinched as Carson turned his hand up and drew some blood. He handed it to a nurse and ordered the tests.

Carson shook his head. "What were you thinking?" he asked, arms crossed.

"That these too shall pass?" John tried, tilting his head and giving a small smile, hoping cute would get him somewhere.

Carson shook his head. "One or two maybe. But anywhere between twelve and thirty… not a good idea. Stay here." He went off to the medicine lock-up, shaking his head.

John glared at Rodney. "It wasn't thirty, for crying out loud! Now he's gonna… I don't know what he's going to do, but I'm guessing he wouldn't have done it for twelve!" he hissed.

"Hey, I finally have you broken in. The last thing we need is to break in yet another new team-member," Rodney hissed back.

John glared at him for the oblique mention of Ford in such a cavalier way. He still hadn't forgiven himself for not finding the young Marine yet.

"I wasn't… I didn't mean…" Rodney stuttered, realizing that his attempt to be funny, well, hadn't been.

"I know, I know," John said, flapping has hand in Rodney's general direction. He knew Rodney had his own guilt for the fact that Ford was still out there. He was almost glad when Carson came back, interrupting them.

Carson came back and handed John a small, disposable medicine cup and a can of ginger ale. "Drink up," he said, annoyance plain in his voice.

"What is this?" John tilted the cup, studying the oily stuff inside.

"Syrup of ipecac," Carson answered, standing up from the cabinet he'd been in. He set a large basin next to John.

"You're going to make me puke them up?" John looked distinctly nauseas at the idea of barfing.

"Well," Carson said, backing up a few steps so that his gaze would take in both John and Rodney, "Since I don't have an accurate number of how many of the bloody things you ate, I can't take the chance that you've done a real number on yourself."

John rolled his eyes but took a deep breath and tossed back the ipecac. He wrinkled up his entire face as he forced the stuff down despite its taste. He quickly popped the tab on the soda and drank down half of it in one gulp. "Oh, nasty."

Not feeling at all sympathetic, Carson muttered, "If you think it's bad going down –"

Rodney cut him off. "I think this is where I leave him in your very capable hands, Carson. I saved him from an untimely death by poison, you can… you know, deal with the aftermath." Rodney beat a hasty retreat from the infirmary.

With his audience gone, John went from indignant to completely contrite. He gave Carson his best puppy-dog eyes.

Carson sighed and leaned on the bed opposite John's. "What in the world am I going to do with you?"

"Seriously, I had no idea. I do the same thing with grape seeds…" John stopped wondering if he should admit such a thing.

"It's a wonder there isn't a small fruit orchard springing up in your colon." Carson shook his head, wondering how the man had stayed alive this long.

John just hung his head, trying for the sympathy ploy as the first inkling that the ipecac was starting to work made itself known. "Sorry."

Carson just shook his head at John's foolishness, contemplating a response when the nurse came back in.

"You wanted me to make sure you went off at 1900 – it's about quarter 'til," she told him.

Carson sighed sadly, "Thanks, Kelly, but I don't think I'll be going anywhere now."

John looked at him sideways. "What did you have planned for 1900? I thought…This morning, didn't you make a point of asking me if I was on duty tonight?"

Carson glanced around to make sure no one else was in the immediate vicinity before coming over to grab John by the elbow. He handed him the basin as he said, "Come with me." He checked his watch. They had about ten minutes before the emetic kicked in.

Once in Carson's office, Carson shut the door. He pointed to a small box on the sofa with one of the infirmary's gray blankets folded up on top of it. John sat on the couch and pulled the blanket into his lap before peeking in the box.

"Oh, crap, I'm sorry."

Carson rolled his eyes. "You didn't do it on purpose."

"Yeah, but … I mean, you went to all the trouble to get food and everything…"

Carson sat next to him, wedging himself between John and the arm of the sofa. "From what I recall you liked the idea of having a moonlit picnic on one of the balconies when that Chaya lass was here…"

John leaned his head back on Carson's shoulder, everything suddenly clicking. "It's been a year. Right? That's what this is?"

Carson shrugged. "I suppose it depends on how you're counting, but… yes, a year."

John hung his head as it started to spin and his vision grew a little fuzzy. "And I'm going to spend it puking. Perfect."

Carson pulled John's head back towards him and kissed his forehead. "Yes you are. Any minute now. So let's get you back in bed." He stood and offered John a hand. He pulled John to his feet and wrapped his arm around John's waist and let John put his arm around his shoulder as he led him back down to the ward.

Carson was getting John into a pair of scrubs and getting a few wet wash clothes when a nurse came in with John's blood labs. "Well, nothing's showing in your blood yet. That's a good thing, but really, Colonel," he said flipping back to John's rank for the nurse's sake, "cherry stones? What were you thinking?"

"Sorry," John muttered, and before he could say anything else he was reaching for his basin.

Carson held the basin still on John's lap with one hand and reached the other around to gently stroke his back. "Well, it'll be over soon."

The cherry pits were far worse coming up than they'd been going down. Everything burned and his abdominal muscles were tied in knots most boy scouts didn't know. When he seemed to have earned a reprieve, he breathed shallowly through his mouth and let Carson wipe his face.

He dry heaved over the basin for another few minutes before collapsing back onto the pillows in exhaustion. Carson stroked his hair off his forehead and John found himself leaning into the caress. There was definitely something to be said for having your own private physician.

Carson washed his face again and then took his pulse. When the nurse came back, Carson gave her the basin and asked her to find out how many of the cherry stones he'd actually eaten and then to get a toxicology report on them to find out if there was much chance that he'd damaged himself before he'd vomited them back up.

Carson patted his shoulder, saying he'd be right back. John turned on his side, curling up in a ball. He was starting to wonder if dying of cyanide poisoning would have been this miserable.

When Carson returned he had a hot water bottle, which he tucked under John's arms, against his protesting middle. "We'll let you sleep right here for a couple of hours. If you can hold some fluids after that, I'll see you home," Carson said with an odd mix of professionalism and fondness.

"You'll stay?" John asked quietly.

"Aye, of course. Wouldn't do to leave you alone after inflicting all this on you, now would it?" Carson squeezed his hand.

John found a small smile for him.

"Rodney's going to be unbearable now," John complained.

"Why's that?" Carson asked, even though he had an idea.

"Because he was right about a medical issue. Especially since I told him he was patently out of his mind," John groused.

"You'll get over it," Carson consoled as he stroked John's hair, watching as John's eyelids fluttered.

"I suppose," John relented. "But you know, as anniversaries go, this one is the pits."


End file.
